Romancing the Bachelor (A Hamilton Family Series)

by Diane Alberts

  He apparently didn’t get the hint.

  “Are you new to the building, then?” he asked.

  “No. I’ve been here for six months.” She forced her smile to remain in place even though he just confirmed what she already knew—he had no frigging clue who she was. “We ride up in this elevator together several times a week, actually.”

  He said nothing, just frowned. He looked even hotter like that.

  All pensive and stuff.

  The elevator door chimed open, and she walked past him, being careful not to brush against his expensive suit with her wet sleeve. She couldn’t afford to replace it if she ruined it. “If you’ll excuse me?”

  “I’m sorry. I think we started off on the wrong foot, Ms.…?” he said, following her out into the hallway.

  Of course he didn’t know her name. Why would he?

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Mr. Hamilton.” She dug in her purse for her keys, deliberately not giving him her name. “Just because we live in the same building, and work in the same place, doesn’t mean we need to be friends. In fact, I don’t want to be your friend. So…yeah.”

  “But we could be,” he said, stepping in front of her. “Friends.”

  Yeah, because you made such an effort to be my friend before today. Where the heck were her stupid keys? “Look, you’re hot, and even I have to admit there’s a certain appeal to those bedroom eyes you’re throwing my way—”

  “Bedroom eyes?” he blurted out, laughing.

  “You’re clearly quite accustomed to women swooning in your presence, and maybe if I had met you a few years ago, I would be one of them. But I’m not one of them. I won’t giggle and flirt, or tell you how cute you are. I won’t go to dinner with you, take my dress off, and then let you forget me the next day. So you’re wasting your time and mine by pretending otherwise. Have a good night, though, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “You don’t like me,” he said, his voice high with surprise.

  She closed her fist around her keychain, letting out a small sigh of gratitude that she’d finally found them because, God, she needed to get inside her apartment. Away from him. He smelled too good, looked too good, and was way too cocky to be taken in large doses. “Not particularly, no.”

  “Why not?” He let out another one of those half-laughs. “You don’t even know me.”

  She headed for her door on trembling legs. Having this much alpha male attention focused on her was a little unnerving, to say the least. “Oh, I know enough.”

  He followed her.

  She didn’t look over her shoulder to verify this because she didn’t need to. She could feel him behind her. He let off a warm energy, something that called for her to stop walking and let him bounce into her just so she could see if he was as hard as he looked under those fancy suits of his. But if she found that out, she’d never forget how he felt pressed against her, and he already haunted her thoughts too much as it was…especially since she didn’t even like him.

  Keep telling yourself that, Shelby.

  “What do you know?” he asked slowly.

  She lifted a hand, counting on her fingers as she spoke, letting her keyring hang off her thumb. “You come home with different women every weekend, and I never see them come back. Not even once. You’ve lived down the hall from me, and worked with me, for months now, and you never noticed me, or tried to befriend me, until now. You never even spoke to me, or so much as asked me how I was doing, until I wore a shorter skirt than usual to work. So, yeah, I think that’s enough for me to know you and I wouldn’t make good friends.”

  He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again.

  She’d struck Eric Hamilton speechless. There was a certain pride in that, since she knew firsthand from watching him in a courtroom how hard that was to do.

  “I’m sorry you think so poorly of me,” he finally said.

  She shrugged, saying nothing.

  “I intend to change that, though.” He shot her a cocky smile, one that was way too flirtatious for her well-being. “Starting now. Would you like to go to dinner with me tonight, Ms.…?”

  A laugh escaped her. She couldn’t help it. “I literally just told you I wasn’t interested in you, and now you’re asking me out on a date? Seriously?”

  “No, but I’ve made a bad impression, and since we work together, I think it’s best if we try to overcome that, don’t you? Think of this as more of an…olive branch.”

  “I don’t particularly like olives.” She smiled politely. “Or branches.”

  He choked on a laugh and reclined against the wall, crossing his arms and his ankles. “Please. I feel awful. Let’s start over. I’m Eric Hamilton. And you are…?”

  He looked far too casually calm for her taste, especially since her heart was racing because Eric Hamilton just asked her out on a date, no matter what he tried to call it. The stupid, girlish side of her was excited about that. But the more mature, smarter half told that other part to shut up and go back to drawing hearts on paper.

  Guys like Eric were no good for girls like her.

  “You know…” She clumsily stuck her key into the lock. “I’m not going to tell you my name, no matter how many times you trail off like that, Mister…?”

  He laughed again and then looked surprised.

  What? Did the guy never laugh?

  “You really don’t like me, do you?” he said, still smiling.

  “I don’t,” she admitted.

  He stepped closer, his front alarmingly close to her back. She stiffened because when he was this close to her, she could smell him. Feel him. Want him. “I can fix that.”

  She pushed her door open and turned to face him, irritation mixing with that annoying attraction to him she always felt but tried her best to ignore. “Why the sudden interest in me?”

  “Well…” His gaze dipped down her body, and by the time his eyes met hers, she felt naked, exposed, and improbably turned on. The way he looked at her… He made it seem like she was the only woman on Earth, and he was about to stake his claim. “To be completely honest? I don’t know how I never noticed you before, but now that I have, there’s no forgetting I did.”

  Glancing down, she noticed a puddle on the floor by his feet, where she’d stood moments before. That puddle served to remind her that she was literally soaking wet…in a white shirt.

  She looked down, and sure enough, her nipples were hard and very visible. Gasping, she crossed her arms over her breasts, her cheeks heating.

  His gaze followed her motions, and he shifted on his feet imperceptibly.

  There was something about that shift, about the way his lids lowered over his eyes, that screamed of seduction even though he hadn’t said a word.

  She didn’t know what to do with this. With Eric Hamilton looking at her like he was starving and she was his next meal. His nostrils flared, and he stepped a little closer, almost as if he sensed her thoughts.

  Without breaking their eye contact, he shrugged his jacket off, laying it over her shoulders and tugging it closed for her. It dwarfed her smaller frame.

  When it settled around her, she took a deep breath. His cologne was so…so…him. “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t even take note of your…uh…situation…until you crossed your arms just now,” he said, letting his hands fall to his sides again. His hand brushed hers as it fell, and a short, electric jolt shot through her veins.

  She jumped slightly, and their locked eyes.

  Did he feel it, too?

  “Yes, you did,” she said, leaving his jacket where it was even though it smelled like him and did weird things to her insides. “I saw you look.”

  “After you crossed your arms.”

  “Before,” she argued. “Admit it.”

  “No. It’s not true, and I don’t lie.” He offered her an apologetic smile. “But even if I had, then it wouldn’t be a surprise. You’re a beautiful woman. It’s hard not to notice you.”

  Despite herself, her heart picked
up speed at his compliment. “If you say so.”

  “I do.” He reached out and moved a damp piece of hair off her cheek. His fingers were rough and dry against her skin. “I’d like to be your friend.”

  She laughed nervously. “How many times do I have to say no before you get the hint?”

  “I’m not sure.” He pushed her door open for her, holding it with a slight bow. “I’m a very persistent man. Ridiculously patient, too. It’s my only fault.”

  On any other guy, those words would be annoying and cocky. On Eric Hamilton, they were just plain hot. “Even when a girl clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice caustic, but he was looking at her, and it was hard.

  “I wouldn’t know. That’s never happened to me before.” The corner of his mouth tilted up. “Have a good night, Miss…?”

  She started to close the door. “Good night, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “Come on. At least tell me your name,” he called out.

  “But you’re a smart, persistent, patient guy”—she shot him what she hoped was a screw-off-smile—“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  With that, she shut the door in his face, making sure to lock it. His soft laughter came through the barrier, and she collapsed against the cool steel, suddenly feeling overheated, even though she’d been shivering just moments before. She never should have said that. Issuing a challenge to a man like Eric Hamilton was like dangling catnip in front of a kitten.

  He wouldn’t be able to resist pouncing.

  Tugging his jacket, which she’d forgotten about, closer around her shoulders, she debated opening the door to give it back, but truth be told, she wasn’t sure she could endure another round of Eric-flirts-with-Shelby and walk away unscathed. She bit down on her lip, inhaling his lingering cologne, and pressed a hand to her stomach. There were butterflies in it. Frigging butterflies.

  She’d have to get an exterminator to kill them.

  Eric Hamilton didn’t get to give her butterflies.

  Chapter Three

  Eric rested against the wall outside apartment 609 for the third day in a row. Over the weekend, he tried his best to “run into” her casually, but as far as he could tell, she hadn’t left her apartment the whole damn weekend. Maybe she was hiding from him. Or maybe she was just antisocial. Or maybe she really didn’t fucking like him and was making that abundantly clear.

  He checked his watch, grimacing.

  Damn it, he’d wanted to be in the office early this morning to get some paperwork done, but instead he was hanging around outside a woman’s apartment like a love-struck fool.

  This wasn’t like him.

  When someone didn’t care for him, he shrugged and moved on. He didn’t give a damn what people thought and didn’t have time to try to change their opinion even if he wanted to. Yet here he was. Waiting outside a woman’s door.

  Hoping to change her mind.

  He didn’t know a thing about her. Her name. Her likes. Her dislikes—well, besides her immense dislike of him, anyway. When he had spoken to her, there had been this charge between them, and he was too damned curious about that to walk away now.

  After the dinner with his family Friday night, he’d canceled his whole weekend, even his dates. As expected, Brett had asked Eric’s father’s permission to ask Anna to marry him, and it had been granted.

  To be honest, after that, he’d needed a few days just to absorb the fact that his baby sister was going to be married and all he did was have meaningless one-night stands with women he would forget when the sun came up. This never bothered him before.

  He didn’t want love.

  But after his mystery woman commented on his habits, and before his sister got officially engaged, he needed a damn second to think. To be honest, when he dug down deep into his dark soul, he hadn’t liked what he’d seen. He still didn’t, days later.

  He wasn’t sure how to fix what he didn’t like, or if he even wanted to, but he had a feeling the path to whatever lay ahead was through this woman.

  And that scared the shit out of him.

  The door cracked open, and he straightened, tugging on his tie.

  She came out, hands full with her purse, a bag, her keys, and a mug of coffee. She had a bagel in between her teeth, and her lips were painted a light red. Her brown hair was swept into a loose bun, with a few curls hanging free, and she wore a longer pencil skirt and a black blouse this time, instead of white. She had a spot of cream cheese on her cheek, and she blushed as she locked eyes with him.

  He’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.

  The door shut behind her, and she rolled her eyes. She readjusted her grip on her shit, shifted her keys into the same hand as her coffee, and took the bagel out of her mouth. She gave him a once-over. “Seriously?”

  Her body vibrated with agitation.

  Agitation had never been so damn sexy before.

  His lips quirked into a smile, and he closed the distance between them. “What’s wrong?”

  “You.” She started for the elevator, leaving him in the dust. Her floral perfume trailed behind her, and he breathed it in. Damn, her scent was intoxicating. “You’re wrong.”

  “We live in the same building. Surely you expected to run into me at some point, right?” he asked, keeping his tone light and teasing.

  “We’ve run into each other plenty of times. You just didn’t care back then.” She pushed the down button and glanced at him over her shoulder. Her mouth was pinched into a thin line, and she still had cream cheese on her cheek. “How about we go back to that?”

  “Impossible,” he said in reply. He gestured toward her face. “You have—”

  “Your jacket. I know. I left it in my bedroom. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” He’d never been so jealous of a piece of clothing before. He walked in front of her, stopping when their toes touched. “Keep it, if you want.”

  Her breath hitched in her throat as she locked eyes with him. Those brown eyes of hers had flecks of darker brown in them, and he couldn’t stop staring. “What are you doing?”

  “You have something…”

  Slowly, he reached out and touched her cheek. She jumped slightly, then leaned into his touch, her breath quickening. Through the thin fabric of her shirt, her nipples hardened, pulling at the silk.

  So she is attracted. She just hates me.

  It took all his control not to back her more firmly against the elevator and kiss her until she stopped hating him and started needing him. But she wasn’t ready. He’d take his time. Show her his true colors. Let her get to know the real him and see that he wasn’t some pompous rich guy who only wanted to get his hand up her pencil skirt. If he wanted to win her over…

  He had to play the game smart.

  So he simply swiped his finger over her cheek, removed the cream cheese, and stepped back before he did something stupid like press his mouth to hers. She closed her eyes and let out a soft moan. He couldn’t tell if it was from relief or frustration, but either way, it punched him in the gut. His cock hardened, and it was a little more difficult to breathe.

  “On your cheek,” he finished, his throat tight and his pants even tighter.

  She swallowed, opened her mouth, closed it, and then said, “Thank you.”

  “Sure thing.” The doors opened, and he moved to the side, gesturing her forward. “After you.”

  She walked past him, and he followed her.

  As she walked, several men turned and looked at her, and for a second, an unfamiliar emotion rocked through him. It was green, and ugly, and hot. Could it be…? No. He’d never been jealous in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now.

  He rushed ahead of her to open the door.

  She stared at him for a second then went through it. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She readjusted her hold on her bags, stuck the bagel back in her mouth, and pulled sunglasses out of her purse. She slid
them into place, giving her a classic Audrey Hepburn look, and took the bagel out of her mouth. “Why are you trying so hard to be nice to me?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “I just feel like I need to make things right, and show you I’m not the guy you think I am.”

  “And who is that?” she asked softly.

  “A spoiled, rich, pompous playboy.”

  She cocked her head, and even though she wore shades, he could feel her studying him. Measuring him up. Finding him insufficient. “I never threw spoiled in there. The rest?” She shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”

  He laughed.

  The wind blew her hair into her face, and it caught on her shiny lip-gloss. She tried to blow it off, failed, and gave up. “So who are you, really, if you’re not those things?”

  “I don’t know.” He swept her hair out of her face for her, his gaze on her plump, kissable mouth. If he leaned in and tasted her, what would she do? Run. She would run. He sensed that about her. “But I want to find out.”

  “And you think I can help you?” she asked, her observation of him spot on.

  It was a little unnerving; the way she saw right through him like that.

  “I don’t know,” he said again. He owed her complete honesty if he was going to pursue her—and he was. Even now, talking to her, he felt alive in ways he’d never felt before. Every nerve in his body was charged, every sense heightened, and he needed more. “But I feel like something is different inside me when I’m arguing with you. It’s like…”

  She hesitated. “Like you’re alive?”

  “Yes.” He frowned. “Do you feel it too?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  Just stared at him.

  And then: “My name is Shelby. Shelby Jefferson.”

  Satisfaction punched him in the chest. That was the only explanation for the breathlessness he was experiencing. “Eric Hamilton.” He held his hand out. “Nice to meet you, Shelby Jefferson.”

  She stuck her bagel in her mouth and shook his hand.

  Her skin on his was electrifying.

  She started to pull away, but he caught her fingers, not letting go. “I’m not a man who plays games, Shelby. If I want something, I go after it, and I get it. And right now? I want you.” He let go of her, fisting his hand. “Normally, I’d pursue you until I got you naked in my bed. It’s what I usually do with women I want. With you, it’s different.”